


The Devil You Know

by dastiel_gal (rock_chick)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rock_chick/pseuds/dastiel_gal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The <i>tail</i>, man, that is some freaky shit.  It's thick and red and fleshy, and looking at it makes Dean uncomfortable in an overheated, stomach-twisting way that he really, really doesn't want to examine too hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil You Know

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/profile)[**blindfold_spn**](http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/) [here](http://community.livejournal.com/blindfold_spn/3417.html?thread=3714393#t3714393) for the prompt _Sam wakes up with a demonic looking tail, horns, and clawed hands. Dean finds them surprisingly hot. First time and Bottom!Dean preferred, but not required. Also, bonus points if Sam uses his tail to fuck Dean's mouth while he fucks him or to DP dean._ I have no idea why I found the concept of Dean being face-fucked with a tail so brain-meltingly hot, but I did, so. XDDD

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Sam, this is _not_ funny!"

Dean glares at his brother, who is grinning gleefully into the mirror while prodding the firm, pointy red horns he has somehow sprouted on the drive back to the motel from their latest job.

"Oh, chill out, Dean. Not like it's gonna last long. Not when the witch was such a lightweight that just casting the spell made her pass out cold."

"You have _horns_ , Sammy. And a _tail_... man, I hate witches."

"And claws. We haven't got another job lined up, so whatever. I can just stay indoors till they're gone." Sam shrugs, and his thick red tail simultaneously gives an insouciant flick. Dean gapes at it, open-mouthed. This _cannot_ be happening.

He stomps off in a snit to fetch takeaway and beer. When they sit down to eat, though, Dean can't stop staring at Sam's new appendages. The horns are kinda cute in a way; they remind him of a Hallowe'en costume and he can pretend they're attached to a headband or something. But that _tail_ , man, that is some freaky shit. It's thick and red and fleshy, and looking at it makes him uncomfortable in an overheated, stomach-twisting way that he really, really doesn't want to examine too hard. It ends in a tapered arrow-head, just like a traditional devil's tail, and given Sammy's history, how ironic is that? Christ.

Considering Sam's only had the tail for a couple of hours, he's got used to it surprisingly fast. Too damn fast, Dean thinks, when he catches him using the tip of it to sneak a taste of Dean's hot sauce. He watches, slack-jawed and speechless, as Sam flips it up to his mouth and sucks the sauce off the end, exactly like he would usually do with a finger. Except his finger isn't wide and flushed and rounded on the end, and doesn't look like... no, not going there. Suffice it to say, Sam putting his finger in his mouth does not have such an inappropriate effect on Dean's cock.

Sam catches him staring - Dean doesn't even want to speculate on the expression he's wearing right now, _shit_ \- and looks puzzled.

"Dean, what-"

"Dibs on the shower."

Dean's out of his chair and locked in the bathroom in an instant, and spends his shower resolutely thinking about yesterday's hot waitress as he deals with his unbrotherly problem. Fuck, he hates witches.

When he's finished in the bathroom, he carefully ignores Sam in favour of the TV while he putters around the room and goes to take his own shower. He's managed to put it out of his mind by the time Sam comes out with a towel wrapped around his hips, and starts shoving dirty laundry into his duffel. That is, until Sam turns around and Dean gets a gratuitous flash of semi-bare ass, because Sam has tucked the towel _under_ his low-slung tail. Dean's baddirtywrong problem is back in an instant, and he shifts uncomfortably and kicks up a knee to hide it.

"You want another beer, man?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," stutters Dean, earning himself a searching look from Sam. Sam grabs a beer for himself, using one of his claws to lever the cap off, curls his tail around another and passes it to Dean. Who can feel himself going redder by the second as he watches the powerful muscles work under the skin, and Jesus _fuck_ , he's gonna die of shame any second. His hand is actually shaking as he reaches out to take the beer.

Sam is grinning slyly at him. "You okay, bro? You look a bit flushed."

"I'm fine," snarls Dean, hating his pale skin and praying not to blush worse; knows he's overcompensating, and oh God, Sam knows him well enough to pick up on that.

"Really? Cause I could have sworn that you were staring at my tail. It doesn't make you _uncomfortable_ , does it, Dean?"

Fuck, he knows. Dean tries to hold it together as Sam pokes him teasingly in the chest with the arrowhead, but he's having trouble breathing and there's not much blood left in his brain.

"Guh," he manages.

"Come on, Dean. It can't bother you that much, surely?" Sam punctuates his point by stroking the tail down Dean's nose and beeping the end of it... and then stops dead as Dean turns his face and rubs his cheek over the arrowhead. Runs his _lips_ over it. Somewhere in his head, he knows it's wrong, but he can't stop himself. Sam jerks away from him in shock.

"Dean, what are you--?"

"I can't help it, Sam, it's just so. I know I shouldn't, but I..."

He's gone so far over the line, there's no pretending he was doing anything other than kissing his brother's extremely phallic tail. So he doesn't pretend, meets Sam's eyes openly.

"Dean, I don't. It's..." he sucks in a breath and tries again, "What do you--"

Dean can't bear to hear him stammer another second, surges up and claims his mouth. There's a second of flailing protest, and Dean is expecting to be shoved off and punched into the middle of next month all the way up until Sam digs his sharp claws into Dean's shoulders and _throws_ them both across the bed. Their lips part company as they land, and they stare at each other for a moment, before Sam growls and leans in to kiss Dean like it's all he's ever wanted to do.

Dean's heart is hammering like it's trying to get out of his chest, and he kisses back for all he's worth, sucking a moan out of Sam's bottom lip. He's given himself over to this completely, doesn't even flinch with shame when he realizes Sam can feel his hard-on pressed against his thigh. They make out like horny kids, clutching at each other, until Dean is all but burning up with heat and need and lack of oxygen, going crazy from the sheer hotness of having Sam's bulk looming over him.

"I never thought you would want me like this."

The confession sounds like it's been ripped from the depths of Sam's soul, in a harsh and fearful tone, and Dean can't speak anymore but he makes comforting noises and runs his hands all over Sam's head, gasping as he comes to the horns. He strokes them, runs his palms over the tips, and Sam groans and pushes his head into Dean's hands, wordlessly begging for more.

Dean loses himself for a while in the heat and desperation in his head, is barely aware of his shorts being clawed down his legs, of Sam fumbling in the bedside cabinet, until Sam shakes him back to awareness, holding a bottle of lube out to him.

"Dean, you have to do this. I can't, I'd scratch you to pieces."

Dean wets his fingers, still half befuddled, twists his hips half off the bed and reaches back to work himself open. He wishes Sam could do it, wants to feel his fingers in there, but Sam's right - those claws are wicked. He takes his time prepping, blindingly aware of Sam watching him, breathless and turned on, as he fucks himself on his fingers. He angles them to hit his prostate, and a full-body shudder goes through him.

"Dean, fuck, please. Now. Can I?"

Dean slides his fingers out and reaches for Sam, who comes to him without a second's hesitation. He slicks Sam up and helps him position it - doesn't want those claws anywhere near either of their cocks, thank you - and then gasps and tries not to writhe as Sam's blunt head starts to push against his muscle.

Sam flicks his tail up to run the tip through Dean's hair. Dean moans and turns his head to seek it out, rubbing his face against it mindlessly, a stream of stupid noises coming out of him as Sam's cock breaches him, slow but unstoppable. He wants it, all at once, so badly, kisses and licks at the arrowhead, loving the way Sam moans and quivers from it as if Dean's going down on him. A flash of heat goes through Dean at that thought, and he smoulders up at Sam, mouthing at his hot flesh, wet and open. Sam is staring back down at him, eyes shocked and desperate, and he wriggles his tail so the very end of it is bumping up against Dean's lips, begging for entry.

"Jesus, do it, _please_."

Dean opens for him, feels the tail slide in as Sam's cock slides out. Sam cries out, loud and demanding, then slams back into him and sets up a steady rhythm, rocking into Dean at each end in counterpoint, going deeper with every thrust. Dean feels himself breaking apart, as if he's letting Sam into every atom of his body same as he's already in Dean's heart and soul. He can't breathe and he can't think, and it's wonderful beyond anything that's ever happened to him before. He doesn't know if he can bear it, but he doesn't really have a choice. Sam's not gonna let up for a second, taking everything he has, and Dean offers it willingly, writhing on Sam's cock and moaning blissfully around his tail. Then Sam twists his hips and hits his prostate with a wallop that lights his body up like the Fourth of July, and he comes hard, yelling around the arrowhead and digging his nails into Sam's back. Sam roars as Dean clenches down on his cock and follows him straight over the edge, pumping his hips and shredding the comforter with his claws.

Dean rolls them onto their sides and they float slowly back to reality. When he's finally recovered the use of his brain and voice, he grins at his brother.

"You know, Sammy, I've been thinking - maybe witches ain't so bad after all!"


End file.
